Chapter Text
Hwang In-ho was a mess. Mentally, physically— hell, even spiritually. His thoughts were winding, occasionally unbearable; scaling his mind, sliding between the cracks, constant echos incapable of finding their freedom. These abominations only reflected the unstable nature of his home; papers strewn across the expanse of the expensive marble flooring, work plans carelessly exposed to anybody who had the pleasure of walking by, a gun or two poking out from the most unusual places in case of any unanticipated danger. Nothing was adding up or making sense. Nothing was making his predicament any easier. Shocker - he had never been a lucky guy. Or perhaps he had been lucky once or twice, only to be ignored for his own arrogance. That was his problem, you see. Never had he been one for modesty; one for subtlety. Never had he been one to see a light in his darkness.
Until he saw Seong Gi-hun.
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There was a gun in his hand. There was blood on his shoes. There was a pounding in his head. There was someone beside him. A man. He was holding a gun too. The blood on his shoes was as clear as the blood on his own. He looked calm, cool, composed. There was a body on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. His own blood. He looked young - too young; perhaps only in his early 20’s. Gi-hun was no fool. The man was dead. He had been killed.
Gi-hun had killed him.
The panic came in waves. A small shudder down his spine, then a sudden shake in his hands, then a tear down his cheek, and then— arms. Arms wrapped around him, enveloping him in the warmth of an unknown embrace. “Gi-hun…”
“No. Please, no…”
“Gi-hun, open your eyes.”
“Fuck. Fuck! Is he—”
“Wake up!”
Gi-hun’s eyes flew open and his body lurched upward. His eyes darted around the room - his room. His own bedroom inside his own home. And there, kneeling on the bed beside him, hands securely gripping his shoulders, was Cho Sang-woo - best mate numero uno. Gi-hun exhaled a shaky sign, a noise straight from the core, and gracelessly flopped back down onto his mattress. Sang-woo’s brows furrowed deeply, hands trailing down to Gi-hun’s own shaking ones - he was scared. Sang-woo, who knew the man like nobody else, held back his questions; Gi-hun had never been one to share how he was feeling in fear of worrying others, so sharing his bad dream was a big no-no. And what was a good way to calm him down? Distraction.
Unusually in the form of a mouth, currently in the form of teasing (also usually in the form of mouths or hands, currently in the form of words). “You’ll be pleased to know the washing’s done, considering today was your day.”
Gi-hun flipped the finger. How childish of him, Sang-woo thought as he also flipped the same finger in response. Gi-hun, in one stupidly quick movement, grabbed said finger and was one mere second away from doing the unspeakable (as in bending Sang-woo’s whole hand backward - because he totally would) when a small voice echoed around the house. “Appa! Uncle Sang’oo!”
Immediately, Sang-woo’s hand was released (thank fuck for that). “I’m coming, baby!” Without any warning, Gi-hun bodied his best friend onto the bed (why, he had no idea), leaned down and pressed a few pecks across his forehead (again, why?), and then mercilessly clambered over the defenceless man’s body in order to flee to the door. “She’s asking for you too.”
Then, he was gone.
Sang-woo shook his head. And smiled (only a small one, really - obviously). “Nutcase.” And then, he was following Gi-hun through the bedroom door.
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There was a gun in his hand. The weapon was warm - way too warm for someone so cold. And in his world, warm weapons equalled cold decisions. Soulless choices. Death. Violence was never an option nowadays; never really had been, in his opinion. Violence had always been his answer, though never for a reason he deemed bad - everything he did, every person he harmed or killed was for something good. Never had he, nor would he, kill an innocent. Never. That was him; how he ran things. He was soulless, not a monster.
“This is precisely why,” In-ho’s voice was eerily calm as carelessly gestured to the dead body on the floor beside him, “you do not defy me. You do not question me. You do not betray me.” He gracefully (somehow) kicked the deceased man’s unmoving leg, sneering down at the corpse as though he was nothing other than worthless vermin. “Consider this a warning to you all, my dears.”
Then, he was gone.
The walk back to his office - that seemed far too formal for someone of his profession, so he tended to call said room his meeting room (confusing indeed) - seemed long; perhaps the seriousness of his misplaced trust was weighing down on him— or perhaps he was too busy noticing the shuffling echo of footsteps following behind him. “Do you mind leaving a guy to wallow in his own misery?”
The response was quick. “Are you okay?” Jun-ho sounded concerned. Scared, even. “I’ve never seen you so…annoyed.”
“Believe me,” In-ho removed his blazer (stylish, naturally) and flung the black material over the back of his office (sorry, meeting room) chair, “this is far from annoyed.” He made his way over to his little minibar and poured a large whiskey into a crystallised glass. “I’d say I’m more…pissed.” He drank his beverage in one go. “Mentally and, soon enough, literally.”
When the reply came, In-ho was barely surprised to realise another voice had unwontedly joined the conversation. “Get a grip, will you?” Hyun fucking Woo-jin. In-ho’s second-in-command (which was a silly decision, really) and, unfortunately for everyone else, Jun-ho’s boyfriend or whatever. In-ho had to suppress a shiver every time he considered the thought. “You’ve been betrayed before, but you’ve never reacted like this. It’s rather embarrassing, in my opinion.”
“Nobody asked you.” The comeback was embarrassing too. In-ho agreed with that, but there was no other reply he could be bothered to give.
“Hyung.” Jun-ho frowned. “Has something else happened?”
In-ho sighed, hand tightening around his glass. Still empty. “No. Nothing’s happened.”
“Bullshit.” The Salesman (a self-proclaimed nickname, obviously) piped up. In-ho nearly lobbed the glass at his head. Instead, he opted for flipping his finger. Woo-jin returned the sentiment, of course.
“Okay!” Jun-ho shoved his boyfriend’s hand down, before storming over to his brother and doing the same. “We’re going out. All three of us.”
“We’re not.” The two simultaneously protested.
Jun-ho’s eyes fell on In-ho and narrowed. “I know things.” Then, he turned to Woo-jin and he pulled the puppy-eyed look out. “Please?”
Manipulative little shit.
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Ga-yeong’s hand was warm in Gi-hun’s, her small fingers curling around his own in a way that nearly made him forget about his dream. His nightmare, even. Her second hand was clasped in Sang-woo’s, arms swinging lightly between them. They looked like a family; they were a family. “Okay, I spy with my little eye…something black!”
Gi-hun hummed, eyes raking the crowded streets of Ssangmun-dong. “A dog?”
“Nope!”
Sang-woo did the same. “A car?”
“No!” The young girl giggled. “Do you both give up?”
Simultaneously, her two guardians nodded. “Tell us, baby.”
Ga-yeong raised her and Gi-hun’s interlocked hands. “Our matching bracelets!”
Gi-hun’s heart melted a tad (too much). Their bracelets were indeed made up of personalised black beads, completed with two silver heart charms in the very middle. “Well, since you won,” He picked his daughter up as though she weighed nothing and settled her on his hip, barely noticing the fond look in Sang-woo’s eyes, “how about I treat you to a milkshake?”
Her adorable, innocent eyes widened with hope. “One of your chocolate milkshakes?”
“Anything you want, princess.”
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“Jun-ho, can you tell me why,” In-ho’s voice was only a low whisper, harsh-looking to anyone other than Jun-ho and his…companion, “we’re in a fucking café?”
“Well,” The younger Hwang hesitated, “it’s nice.”
“Oh, it’s lovely in here.” The walking headache agreed as though anybody had actually asked him to speak. “Fond memories.” His smug, smirking face turned to In-ho. “I suppose my love mentioned he asked me out here…”
“Jun-ho, we’re leaving.” In-ho spun on his heel, suddenly very eager to leave— “Fuck!”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry! Oh— I’m so sorry!” The boy, or dare he say man, who had bumped into him rambled on. His words fell onto deaf ears; In-ho was far too busy inspecting his clothes - rather, too busy glaring unavoidable daggers into the chocolate-scented sludge that had been dropped onto his top. Giorgio Armani and all. When he eventually looked up, the man was still babbling on about how he would find some tissues, though his words fell on deaf ears again - and this time, not because of the stained clothes.
The man was absolutely fucking gorgeous.
He was young, surely mid 20’s maximum. His eyes - dark brown, perhaps like the most luxurious of chocolates - were wide and panicked; one was hidden beneath the shadow of a stray curl, so gently untamed from the others. In-ho had a very sudden urge to reach over and simply feel; brush a slow thumb over the reddened cheeks, trace the sharp curve of his strong jaw, smooth that one stubborn lock of hair back to catch a sweeter glimpse of those eyes. Brown. Beautiful.
A harsh cough from Jun-ho snapped him back into reality; helped him remember who he was.
“This is Giorgio Armani.” In-ho snapped. Fuck. The man’s face, those gorgeous eyes, fell. Oh, double fuck. Please smile, In-ho mentally wished. He needed to say something. “Freshly-clean too.” Oh. Not that, for God’s sake. “Do you have any idea how much these are?” Oh, that was too much. Pillock.
A hand gripped his arm. Harshly. A voice followed. “You need to leave.”
“Don’t worry,” In-ho ripped his arm away from Woo-jin, “I am.”
Then, he was gone.
Jun-ho was frozen. He knew In-ho. He knew his brother would never usually be so intentionally rude to someone he had never seen without reason, yet all the man had done was accidentally spill some chocolate milkshake on him and he had gone mental. That was hardly a reason to say everything he did. Jun-ho knew Gi-hun too. He knew his friend was too innocent to deserve In-ho’s wrath.
Woo-jin piped up before his boyfriend could. “You okay, Gi-hun?”
”I think so.” The young man responded, voice bordering on shaky. “Did I do something wrong— like, other than spill my drink on him?”
“No!” Jun-ho’s answer was firm. Reassuring. Very quickly, he had learned that Gi-hun was simply a good person; he never considered his needs over anybody else’s, he never saw the bad in anybody unless they gave him a reason. He always believed he was in the wrong. He was a good person and above all else, he was innocent. “No. He’s in the wrong, not you.”
One thing was very clear to Jun-ho; something was wrong with In-ho. And he was going to work out exactly what it was.